


ramblings of an old veteran

by deathblossoms



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, I feel like this is a transition between reyes to reaper, gabe is as bitter as straight coffee, jack only a mention but this is directed at him, just a short monologue basically, post blackwatch as a whole, this is post venice, warning for some swearing btw!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25706257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathblossoms/pseuds/deathblossoms
Summary: Reyes reflects on the past few years in Overwatch and he can't shake the anger taking residence in his mind. There's so much more he'd say to Morrison if he only had the time, but things have changed since their golden days.Everything'schanged.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	ramblings of an old veteran

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose one can consider this a mental letter, of sorts? He's just drowning in his bitterness and resentment. I had a lot of fun with it.

I knew I could never be you, and back then that was fine by me. That was the whole basis of our friendship, remember? That we _weren't_ like each other. But the more we became somebodies and weren't just some dime a dozen soldiers, the more people talked and drew the lines, said their piece, the more that pissed me off. And it just. Kept. Getting to me. 

Clearly I could never be you; responsible, follow the book, look _good._ No, here's me, a respected veteran living in the shadows and quietly washing the blood and dirt off my hands while no one's looking, because that's better for the sake of Overwatch. Joke's on the UN; Overwatch was never the pristine superhero freakshow they'd wanted. We always got our hands dirty, did what no one else could, but for some reason that stopped being okay, doing what was necessary. 

I'm not stupid. Laws, I get it. International relations, check. Public image, whatever. Playing the diplomat was never my strong point and that's why I'm glad that after fighting a war I wasn't pigeonholed into that bullshit. But you were. You were the one. 

I was fine with that, almost wanted to thank you for taking that burden off me. But hearing everyone talk, some said it should have been me, others said you were the better choice. Hell, I just didn't care, I didn't want to think about it. But it had to go deeper, didn't it? _Why_ I wasn't right, why I was. Yeah, the talk was what made me realise where I belonged, and it certainly wasn't here. I liked to fight, helping others just so happened to be the reward that came with it sometimes, but I knew I was losing. The threat was growing stronger every damn day, peace never came after the omnic crisis. Everything was bullshit. 

And in the end, nothing I did really mattered, did it? The sleep I lost, the sacrifices I made, no, everything I did didn't account for jack shit because I was too much of a wildcard at the end of the day. Everything I worked to build up crumbled right before me. And I knew it, I knew I was falling out of favour with everyone and that the blame was inevitable. 

But, _suspension?_ That really fucking hurt, Jack. 

Not the act itself, but the principle; spit in my face while I'm down. I've lost my purpose and my reputation has been run into the dirt, all because somewhere along the line I tainted this precious group with my misdeeds. The audacity to say 'I've lost sight of it all.' No, I think I'm seeing clearer than ever. You all want to say _I'm_ the bad guy because I'm doing my job? Because I don't believe scum deserve to be out there with their fat wallets, killing my men like swatting flies? Because I made a choice that doesn't align perfectly with an ideal I never agreed with? Even Jesse's disappointed in me, I'm losing my people left and right. 

I deserved better. I did my job right, I stand by that. And I'd do it all over again.

Fuck regulations, fuck the rules, I'm sick of pretending to care. Every time we dance around policies and ethics we drive ourselves further into the ground, all because we're too chickenshit to get blood on our hands instead of motor oil. That's the way the world is now; you're shackled by the higher ups and sometimes I'm not sure if you even notice just how much, but god, I hardly recognise you. 

Guess we all grow up someday, you couldn't be that reckless little recruit forever, but something in me misses that daredevil because there was something genuine about him compared to the manufactured husk you are now. It's ironic you think you can stand over me, lecture me on responsibility. I know where you came from, Jack. Don't forget that. 

Don't you _ever_ forget.


End file.
